


Run.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 09:38:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Commemorating the building of Tirion, the Noldor ran races.





	Run.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tabru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabru/gifts).



    

 

   The silver gleam on dew and fountain lit the Elves with nacre, as they stood silent for Ingwë to raise his hand. It was the commemoration of the founding of noble Tirion, and all who dwelt within set forth to pace the bounds of the great green hill. The stately parade of Ingwë and his household led the march, their voices raised in the Song of Home. Finwë and Indis were there with the High King, and Fëanor their son, in rare good humour, smiled at the crowd lining the road; down from Taniquetil, or journeyed hence from Valmar, and Alqualondë. Above their heads the glittering path was hung with twining garlands of bright flowers, and the Elves, clad in their finest, were brighter yet.  
  Singing, they passed slowly to the curve of the hill, and the head of the parade was long out of sight before the waiting crowd in the meadows started to move forwards. The splendour of Valinor had brought a fine flourishing to the Eldar, and their numbers were greatly increased since Cuiviénen.

   But not all the Elves of Tirion would join the slow procession. Behind them, long after, came the runners, first the youths, then the full-grown, and finally the horses, ridden by those most skilled with beasts. Glorfindel stroked the mane of Asfaloth and whispered words of patience that he did not feel. After the unending activity of the farm, his spirit chafed at the stillness of the city, and the words innumerable that must be shared. Asfaloth butted his nose and Glorfindel laughed, then swiftly straightened his face. The ceremony was solemn, gratitude and reverence for the Valar were in everyone’s hearts and voices. It would be afterwards, when the feasting began, that the time would come for laughter.

   His father drew near, smiling face marred by a faint frown. Glorfindel patted Asfaloth and strode to greet his father.  
  "Dearest Glorfindel ! How splendid you look ! We had planned to see the finish of your race, your mother is there with her friends, but there has been..."  
   "Whatever is it ? Is someone hurt ?"  
   "Well, yes, alas, Ecthelion, the son of an old friend of your mother and indeed of me, has hurt his ankle. He had entered the running race in armour, but now he can do nothing."  
   "Oh, poor Ecthelion ! Of course I know him father, we studied Beast-lore together."  
   "Ah, yes, then you do know him. His mother said so, though Ecthelion demurred. A very quiet boy, I always thought, but clever ! One day he will be counted among the wise, I feel sure of it."  
   Glorfindel thought of the few, but incisive comments that Ecthelion had made in their lessons and nodded silently.  
   "But there, I have forgotten to ask you ! My son, your mother, and I, would ask you to offer your horse to Ecthelion to ride, that he may take part today, and do you yourself run in his place."

   Glorfindel gaped and swallowed, but did not sag. He was bitterly disappointed not to ride his friend Asfaloth, whiter than Oiolossë, proud as an eagle of Manwë and lovely as a song. He stroked the strong neck, and Asfaloth pushed his cheek against the hand of Glorfindel. There was silence for a moment, though the Song of Home now echoed round Túna.        

   Glorfindel sighed.  
  "Of course, father, though you must not expect me to do well, it is the riding I have trained for. Indeed" he frowned "I have not yet run the course in armour."  
   His father laid a strong hand upon his shoulder "My dear son, pride of my heart, you have already won. I see your disappointment, I see the disappointment of Asfaloth, yet you offer no word of complaint. You bring credit to your mother, and to me." He grinned, and Glorfindel found himself grinning back. "Besides, dear son, you do not know how strong you are, all the work that you have poured into the farm has given you sinew beyond your years. You will not falter, and do you but complete the race, you will have done well."  
   Glorfindel started suddenly "But father, the runners go first, before the horses, I must..."  
   "Be at ease, here, this is the Herald of Ingwë, who is appointed to record the names of those taking part."  
   The Herald smiled at Glorfindel "Well done sir ! A noble deed, truly, to give up your steed and take the place of another, untrained, unprepared, at a moment’s notice. I salute you !" And the Herald of Ingwe, glittering with jewels and weighted with gold, bowed before Glorfindel, who was clad in simple white.

   Ecthelion was sitting surrounded by family and friends, he rose to his feet as Glorfindel led Asfaloth forward, but winced, and sat down again. A babble of anxious voices rose around him, but he met the eyes of Glorfindel, who smiled warmly. Ecthelion, shrugging off his own mother, limped towards Glorfindel and put a steadying hand on the neck of Asfaloth.  
   "I am Ecthelion, we have met, though you may have forgotten one so quiet as me."  
   "Yes Ecthelion, as easily as I would forget the silent leopard at my back ! But what have you done ? How are you hurt ?"  
   Ecthelion grimaced "Oh, it was shameful. I leapt a small stream, the one by the statue of Nessa, and I slid on soft mud, and ended up in the water. Small children playing in the trees saw everything and one of them almost fell out of the tree they were laughing so hard. I can still hear their hooting." His face had gone very red. Glorfindel found himself blushing in sympathy, and was eager to offer Asfaloth, if only to escape the embarrassment. He helped Ecthelion onto the back of the lovely horse, and Ecthelion smiled down at him.  
   "What a marvellous horse you have found ! He suits you well, beautiful Glorfindel ! I am honoured to be borne by him. Alas, people will look at him, and say 'Aha ! There is the mighty Asfaloth ! But who is that miserable creature clinging to his back ? Where is our darling ?' And I shall be dragged from his back and trampled underfoot for my presumption."  
   Glorfindel laughed "I suppose it is the pain that makes you tease me, for I have never heard you speak so before."  
   "It is long since we were children together, beautiful Glorfindel, and much has changed for both of us. But now, you must hurry away, for the last of the march has almost passed from sight, and soon the children will begin their run. You must be ready at the start, or you will miss everything."  
   Glorfindel grinned up at Ecthelion "Asfaloth will bear you steadily, he knows the way, you may give him his head and let him run free. May Oromë ride with you !"  
   "Nessa lift your feet, Glorfindel, and thank you."

 

   There were twenty of them at the starting line, in full armour, the tallest, broadest of athletes, able to run the full leaguer of Túna. The crowd was swelling as Ingwë and his people began to arrive back, and take their seats in the pavilions to watch the races. The mouth-watering scents of hot savouries drifted through the warm air, mingling with the flowers and the perfumes of the singing Elves. Glorfindel breathed deeply, easing the tension from his muscles; it would be a long race, and he was unprepared...  
  There was a stir to one side, and an honour guard appeared, escorting one of the House of Finwë. Glorfindel did not know them, he had lived in Tirion for less than a year, and had not seen more than a few of the great lords. Beside him whispers moved among the runners "Turgon, son of Fingolfin, tallest of that House."  
   Turgon was even taller than Glorfindel, who studied him closely. His armour was silvered, his surcoat white, with garnets sewn into the hem, and set in a circlet round his silvered helmet. Only his cloak showed the blue of his mighty House.  
Glorfindel felt very plain in his unadorned steel armour, but his own necklace of diamonds had come from across Belegaer, and had belonged to his father since before the Elves had heard the horn of Oromë. He pulled himself upright and smiled at the son of Fingolfin, who had stopped to speak to Glorfindel.  
   "Is it true that you have offered your horse to Ecthelion, and will run in his stead ?"  
   "Yes lord, he is a family friend, it was a simple thing to do."  
Turgon laughed "Simple ! Do you know how much exercise I have had to take to enter this race ? Simple ! Glorfindel, is it ? I am Turgon."

   Glorfindel laid his hand upon his chest and bowed formally, but Turgon clapped him on the shoulder "No no, we are athletes here, we do not need the formality of court among ourselves ! But come, I too crave a boon from you. Will you run at my side, beautiful Glorfindel, until such time as you wish to hurry ahead to win the race ?"  
   Glorfindel gaped "Win the race ? My lord, I have not even trained for it ! But I will run with you until you hurry away to win."  
   Turgon laughed again, then looked thoughtfully at Glorfindel. "You claim to know Ecthelion but you do not trust his judgment ?"  
   Glorfindel frowned "What ? Of course I do ! Why, he is the cleverest person, well, apart from my Father, and my Mother, and..."  
   Turgon held up his hand "So. But Ecthelion judges you capable of winning this race. Or he would not have proposed that you enter."  
   Glorfindel bowed his head in silence, then looked up at Turgon "Thank you, my lord, I hope I do not disappoint you, or Ecthelion."  
   Turgon laughed "I hope he looks after Asfaloth !"  
   Glorfindel gaped at him "You know Asfaloth ?"  
   "Oh yes, he was offered to Grandfather, but Grandfather is happy with Falma, and none of the rest of us felt, well, worthy of such a beauty. But he suits you, you go together. I'm glad Grandfather said no. Poor Ecthelion, he does not enjoy the company of animals. Indeed, I fear he finds me a little dumb...  
   But we were to run together today, so since you have taken his place, that is your fate."  
   "Fortune is mine ! But I beg you not to keep to my slow pace, you are of the House of Finwë and must hurry along to the front."

   Eonwë himself was Herald, the runners took their marks, the silver trumpet sounded and the crowd cheered as the runners set off along the well-trodden track, into the hot sparkling dust cloud. The heat was growing strong, Laurelin had waxed beside Telperion and full light was near: it would be a warm run.

 

   They were silent at first, setting a steady pace that could be kept to for mile after mile, league after league. But as the crowd thinned in the shadow of the hill, they felt themselves alone, but for the stewards, mounted at the turns, with small crowds gathered near, bearing refreshments, salves, and songs of encouragement. But the runners did not pause, pounding on, heavy armour rattling and thudding, chafing neck and arm, every strap sliding with sweat, every step another cluster of bruises.

   Glorfindel sucked in his breath, it was worse than harvest-time, for even at the most urgent, in foul weather, it was never a race such as this. He had not trained ! Running, he knew all about running, but not in armour. He had devoted his time to Asfaloth, it was his dream, his plan and his intention to serve on horseback, not running through fields like some fleeing foe. He kept his thoughts to himself, and gradually grew aware of Turgon labouring beside him. He wondered what had driven such a one to enter this race, the only member of his large family to have done so. Finally he found the courage to ask.

   Turgon grinned, hissing breath through his teeth. "Well, partly to be in the race as a member of my family, you know. And partly to impress Elenwë."  
   "Your wife ? Is she angry with you ?"  
   Turgon laughed again "Ah, the innocence of youth ! You have not fallen in love yet."  
   "No, my lord, but what does that have to do with it ?"  
   Turgon laughed "Dear Glorfindel.... Will you run beside me forever ? You cheer my heart, your blythe spirit makes everything seem possible, and I would have you near me. Will you join my House ?"  
   Glorfindel ran in silence for a time, and Turgon, working on his breathing, said no more. They ran together through the shadows of Tirion. Glorfindel thought of the offers he had had, from Ingwë himself, from Curumë, and others. But as they toiled side by side through the choking dust, battered by their own armour, their breathing ragged despite their best efforts at control, Glorfindel thought that finally he had found one whom he could follow. One whom he understood, and who understood him.  
   "My lord, if you were not the grandson of King Finwë, I would seek out your friendship. But since you are; then, lord Turgon, prince of the Noldor, I offer you my friendship, and my service."

   Turgon stopped in mid step, the runner behind collided with him, a few runners paused, but Turgon waved them on. Glorfindel hurried back to Turgon, who grinned at him "I cannot believe my good fortune ! They are scheming to get you, Glorfindel, everyone wants you in their service, and you have chosen me ! But wait, run, Glorfindel, run like Asfaloth, win me the race, and my House shall sing your name until the end of the world !"  
   Glorfindel looked at Turgon, at the grey eyes, shining with eagerness, the strands of dark hair clinging to the sweat of his face, his armour sparkling with dust. The race... he thought, and darted away, leaving Turgon unseen behind him.

  
   It was tolerable, running in the shadow of the hill, though high above them the clouds were shimmering in the blended Light. The runners were silent, strung out along the road, each in a world of their own, intent upon the rhythm of their feet and the pace of their breath. But as they turned for home, the Light swept all thought from their minds, and the heat settled on them like a thick cloak. They slowed their pace, each in turn, eyes narrowed to slits, breathing hoarse, their armour turned from protector to tormentor, burning blisters wherever it touched tender flesh, bruising bones and stinging skin. The glare flashed from the armour of the others; Roka, out in front, was in the golden armour that Finwë had had made for him for winning this very race when last it had been run. Glorfindel screwed his eyes up and looked at the giant Elf, the demon, whom he had once seen wrestle a lion. But Roka looked tired, his steps were slower than they had been, he was closer than he had been...

   A wild hope sprang in the heart of Glorfindel. Roka might still be feeling the claws of the lion, which had laid open his thigh. Roka might not win... Glorfindel looked at the others running nearby, there were four, none of whom he knew. The rest were spread out behind; Turgon had not yet emerged from the shadow.  
   Tentatively, Glorfindel stretched his stride, and ran clear. But two of the others matched his pace, and he pursed his lips. But still, Roka ran more slowly, they were gaining on him. Glorfindel glanced around, there was Turgon, starting to slow himself, feeling the battering heat ram into him. Glorfindel sniffed, and looked briefly at the two runners beside him. One of them grinned, pale blue eyes flashing in the Light, and the heart of Glorfindel floated free of it all. His spirit soared like the circling eagles, he felt released, light and empty, ready to fly, one with the wind.

   The race flew by him, he felt only stillness; he had found the pace that flowed through him, a chord of the Music, his body lifted into a dance of swift flight, the dazzle of the Trees and the sparkle of the crowd flowed towards him, while he stood still, at the blue ribbon, alone.  
   

   And then the wave broke over him, in a roar of cheering, and he was lifted onto shoulders, and smothered with flowers, and they sang and danced around him and called his name.

   The runners were rescued from the adoring crowds and led into a pavilion where they were helped from their armour and bathed, while others offered cool drinks and hot, and salvers of delicacies.

   They were too exhausted to speak at first, and then thirst must be dealt with. By the time Glorfindel felt able to look about him, Turgon was there, with a proud smile on his lips and an eager light in his grey eyes.  
   "The Splendid Glorfindel ! Surely such a spirit will do deeds worthy of song ! By the Valar,  it was an honour to have run beside you for a time ! My heartiest congratulations on your great victory !"  
   The other runners cheered, and Roka came towards them, an oak beside the birch of Turgon. He smiled at Glorfindel and bowed with hand on heart. "A mighty feat, young Glorfindel, I would try your strength again, when I am healed, and when you have trained beside us, for I would see this race run as it should be, to truly feel the ecstasy of flow."  
   Turgon bowed to Roka "Champion of champions, whensoever you wish it, we shall race with you. We do not require the adulation of crowds to run, we may chose our time and place, and who shall gainsay us ?"  
   Roka smiled again at Glorfindel "What do you say, swift one ? Will you offer us the chance to show you how we run ? For none knows better than I, or did until today, that from the front you see nothing of the race." Glorfindel blushed and turned to Turgon with a question in his eyes. Turgon laughed.  
   "I came sixth, if you wish to know. But seeing you win was worth it. Will you run with us, away from all this ? For the joy of it ?"  
   Finally Glorfindel felt able to speak. He smiled around at the shining eyes "My lords, my friends, I... of course I shall ! What could be better ? But my friends, the horses ! My friend Asfaloth labours round the track with a stranger astride him, and I would be there to welcome him back."

 

   Asfaloth was a length ahead as they turned the corner of the hill, the cheering crowd running alongside in a wave of motion, as each few Elves staggered to a halt, and those nearby picked up the pace, until they were absorbed by the throngs spilling down the slopes at the finish.  
   The brown horse behind Asfaloth was gaining, it was half a length away. Ecthelion, who had been looking over his shoulder like the novice he was, turned back and almost touched the reins. But the rider, whom he did not know, did not spare him a glance, all his being focused on urging the sweating horse to one last lunge.  
   Ecthelion started, and bent low over the neck of Asfaloth, letting the silvery white mane ripple against his face, wondering what Glorfindel would do, or say. He grinned to himself, the words of Celegorm came to him 'A horse knows few words, it is all in the tone. But those words it does know mean much to it, use them wisely...'  
   Ecthelion smiled, leaned forwards and whispered urgently into the long white ear "Glorfindel !"

  
   Silently as the snow, the horse leaned forwards, white head down, legs flickering beneath. The brown horse fell back with a snort, and clear space opened between the two mighty steeds, as Asfaloth plunged over the line, into the roaring crowd, and the rain of flowers.

   When the exhausted horse had cantered to a halt, Glorfindel was there, stroking his head, helping Ecthelion down and then returning to Asfaloth as the family and friends of Ecthelion led him away. But Turgon was beside him.  
   "Glorfindel. My words to you were not in jest, I would have you run beside me, or ride." He paused to smile up at Asfaloth and stroke the proud neck "I would have you with me, even this evening, while I feast with my family. Will you come ? Tonight, and every day thereafter ?"  
   Glorfindel frowned for a moment, as though searching for a reason to refuse, but there was none. His family would approve, he himself approved, what was there to question ?

  
   "My lord, I thank you for your gracious offer, I am honoured. I will gladly feast with you, and I shall be proud to run with you, ride with you, and guard you from all danger."  
   Turgon laughed delightedly "Haha ! I cannot believe my good fortune ! One day I shall build a city, and you shall be the choicest jewel in its ornamentation. And a mighty warrior in its defence." He finished steadily, but noted the hint of wariness in the eyes of the beautiful Glorfindel. Turgon thought of Elenwë, whose beauty had drawn suitors like moths to the torch. Glorfindel, raised quietly on a farm, would soon be beseiged. Turgon frowned briefly. "Come with me now, come and meet Elenwë."  
   "My lord, I must tend to Asfaloth !" But Turgon shook his head "You both shall be tended, rest now, leave Asfaloth in the hands of these fine people, who have not been running for hours in the heat. Come." And Glorfindel, pledged to the service of the House of Turgon, followed his new lord. As he glanced back, he saw Asfaloth drinking from a silver bowl, while two Elves rubbed his shoulders with soft towels.

   Glorfindel grinned; Asfaloth, champion and darling of the crowds, would be well tended.

 

 

 


End file.
